


Better When You Share

by Dracoduceus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Discussion of Spitroasting, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Multi, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 07:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20170582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: “See?” Reinhardt asked, his voice a low rumble. “Isn’t it better when you share?”---Reinhardt loves his boys. They're both so similar and yet so different.He especially loves it when they let him play with both of them at once.





	Better When You Share

**Author's Note:**

> I both love and hate writing threesomes...there's just so much to keep track of. 
> 
> Though funny story, my friend was visiting and asked me why I'm scowling at my computer. When I told her that I was having a difficult time writing a story, she nodded and said "It's a threesome with all guys again, isn't it?"
> 
> She knows me too well.

**** “See?” Reinhardt asked, his voice a low rumble. “Isn’t it better when you share?” 

He watched McCree’s face with a grin. The gunslinger’s eyes were hazy, his face flushed as he gasped for air, his lips wet and swollen from the rough treatment he had just been subjected to. 

McCree also wasn’t looking at Reinhardt, or wasn’t meeting his eyes at least. Instead he was watching Hanzo, watching as Reinhardt tugged him up and down his fat girth by his hair. He tugged against Reinhardt’s loose hold on him and made a high, breathy sound. Only then did he look up to meet Reinhardt’s eyes. 

“That’s enough,” Reinhardt said and this time it was Hanzo’s turn to whine. He was tugged back, his lips just as wet and swollen, his beard soaked with spit and precome. Hanzo was gasping raggedly for air but still tugging against Reinhardt’s loose hold anyway. 

He laughed, loud and boisterous when McCree whined, quite canine, when Reinhardt didn’t immediately make use of his mouth. “Do you want it?” 

McCree’s eyes flicked up at Reinhardt then dropped back to his dick. It was too heavy to hold itself upright, wet from saliva and precome and flushed red. “Please,” he rasped, voice rough. Both of his boys would have such a terrible time speaking when he was done with them. 

He knew that if he let them have their way, they would both be much rougher with themselves. They would take it as a challenge and would try to out-do each other more than they were already. 

Would try to get as much of Reinhardt’s fat cock in their mouth. 

“Please what?” Reinhardt pressed. “Use your words.” 

“Please,” McCree repeated, his eyes jumping from Reinhardt’s cock to his face. “Please can I suck it?” 

His boys hated to ask for it, caught up in some kind of bizarre sense of pride. Reinhardt had never quite understood it, but he  _ did _ believe in good manners and made them ask for things they wanted, though. 

McCree’s throat bobbed and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. “Please, may I suck your dick?” 

“Good boy,” Reinhardt praised, enjoying McCree’s full-body shudder at the little hint of praise. Both of his boys were like that and while it sometimes made Reinhardt’s heart hurt to think that they had been so starved of praise, he loved showering them with it, loved being able to provide them with that. “Open your mouth, now. There’s my good boy.” 

McCree’s mouth dropped open laughably quick, his tongue lolling out in invitation. Murmuring praises, Reinhardt drew McCree’s head closer, between his big thighs. McCree picked up Reinhardt’s dick, supporting it with his hand and waited, hand trembling as if fighting to keep from moving, to keep from closing his fingers around that enormous girth. 

He really was such a good boy and Reinhardt told him so, easing his head down until the wide tip of Reinhardt’s cock rested on McCree’s extended tongue. “Just that much,” Reinhardt soothed when McCree made a noise of confusion. “Move your hand, beautiful.” 

McCree whined again, a wordless plea for more, before obeying. He really was such a good boy and Reinhardt told him so as McCree suckled deliriously on the enormous tip of Reinhardt’s cock. 

Turning to Hanzo, Reinhardt found him watching McCree’s spit-slick lips greedily. Perhaps he was staring at the girth of Reinhardt’s dick. “There’s space for you too, little dragon.” 

If anyone else had called him that, Hanzo would have puffed up like an angry cat but he never did so with Reinhardt. He gave Reinhardt what was to Hanzo an adoring stare before following the gentle tug. He needed little encouragement, mouth opening wide with a wet sound, and he pressed open-mouthed kisses to the base of Reinhardt’s cock. 

McCree made a wounded sound, the greedy boy that he was, and rolled his tongue, the tip playing with Reinhardt’s foreskin. He wanted more attention, as if Reinhardt was punishing him by making him share. 

“Don’t be greedy,” Reinhardt chided and McCree’s eyes rolled up to look at him. He looked so endearingly pleading that Reinhardt’s expression softened. “You need to learn to share,  _ Liebling _ .” 

Then Reinhardt sighed, tipping his head back as Hanzo mouthed at the base of his cock, nosing lower toward his balls. He shifted his legs wider, making more space for Hanzo’s big shoulders. Hanzo made a soft sound as Reinhardt ran his fingers through his hair, releasing his grip entirely. 

“Be good,” Reinhardt reminded Hanzo and made a pleased noise when he felt Hanzo’s tongue lapping at his balls. A thought occurred to him that made him grin. “Show me how good you are,” he told Hanzo who looked affronted that he would be anything other than good for Reinhardt. 

He had gotten into the habit of obedience, something that ran bone-deep for him. Knowing that Reinhardt was someone worth obeying made it less painful, made him able to let go. 

“Back up,” Reinhardt ordered and Hanzo allowed himself a moment of mulish disobedience before obeying. McCree’s eyes flicked to Hanzo, smug, thinking that he was in for a treat.

He was, just not the treat that he was expecting. 

Reinhardt eased McCree’s head back by the fist still tangled in his hair. Looking betrayed, McCree stared up at Reinhardt’s good eye. “Undress,” he ordered. “Both of you.” 

It was an indulgence to be the only one naked and Reinhardt knew how it made his boys feel. Despite being the ones clothed they felt like they were the needy ones. Though Reinhardt was naked, it still felt as if he held all of the power.

And he did, by their own choice. 

McCree hesitated but Hanzo, ever-obedient Hanzo, lurched to his feet and pulled his shirt off by the collar. Seeing Hanzo moving spurred McCree into action as well, unable to sit still while there were things to be done. 

He didn’t like to be left out, the poor thing. 

Reinhardt briefly considered taking himself in hand, giving himself a few lazy pulls, but why do that himself when he could have someone do it for him? Unsurprisingly Hanzo finished undressing first, being one to rip them off his body and throw them aside in a parody of the order by which he held the rest of his life to; McCree was typically slower, took his time with his clothes. 

He was not pressed for funds now that he was with Overwatch again, but old habits died hard and somewhere deep in his unconscious mind he wasn’t sure if he would have anything but the clothes on his back and his weapon on his belt when he left again. 

Unlike McCree, Hanzo didn’t rush in again. He stood there impatiently, shifting on his feet while watching Reinhardt’s face for any cues. McCree continued to carefully remove and fold his clothes to the side, his jaw clenched as he thought of himself as the “loser”, even though this wasn’t a competition. 

His boys were always like this and Reinhardt had toyed with the thought of breaking this competitive streak. In the end, he decided that he didn’t have the right to change his boys like that and let them be. 

“McCree,” Reinhardt said when he was finally undressed and had turned back to look at Reinhardt. He gestured to the space between his knees and watched as McCree rocked on his feet, his eagerness at odds with his desire to obey—with his desire to compete with Hanzo’s near-absolute obedience. “Come here,” Reinhardt urged, gesturing to the space between his knees. 

McCree fell quickly to his knees with a  _ crack _ that made Reinhardt wince. “I’m okay,” McCree said in a raspy voice. “I’m sorry sir.” 

It was rare that McCree spoke up like that. To him—and to Hanzo as well—their bodies were weapons to be used by someone other than themselves. Even given how much they each doted on their respective weapons, that same care never seemed to translate to their own bodies, arguably some of their greatest assets. 

So Reinhardt cared for them when he could, both inside and outside of the bedroom. Making sure they drank water, they ate at regular times. He was there for them when they couldn’t sleep or distanced himself when they needed space—even if it sometimes killed him. 

“Stand up,” Reinhardt urged, sitting up. “Does it hurt?” 

“Stings,” McCree said. “I’m okay though. Promise.” 

Reinhardt smiled at him. Even when he was standing and Reinhardt sitting, McCree was only barely taller than him. Reaching up, he cupped McCree’s cheek. “Okay, sweet,” he said. “But when you kneel again, go slower. And use a pillow.” Reaching around with his other hand, he found one of the soft pillows on their bed and handed it to McCree who reluctantly took it. 

“Yessir,” he said a little mulishly. 

He obeyed nonetheless, putting the pillow down before easing himself to his knees between Reinhardt’s splayed thighs. Looking at Hanzo, Reinhardt found him standing, his fists clenching and unclenching, his jaw tight. 

“Kneel behind McCree,” Reinhardt told Hanzo. “Be careful.” Hanzo obeyed, sliding smoothly into  _ seiza _ where Reinhardt indicated. He looked down at McCree who looked unsure—not the kind of unsure to stop, but the kind of unsure where he didn’t know what Reinhardt was planning. Hanzo had a similar expression. 

Birds of a feather, his boys. 

“I will tell you,” Reinhardt assured them. “Hanzo, you will fuck McCree.” It felt strange to speak with such vulgarity, but neither of his boys had patience for flowery language or euphemisms when they were like this. “I would like to make use of your mouth, Hanzo, and yours McCree.” 

They both shivered. Hanzo moved his hand from his lap before pausing, waiting for permission from Reinhardt. He smiled and nodded and Hanzo wrapped both of his enormous arms around McCree’s bare torso. 

McCree hissed, tensing up. He didn’t like people behind him but a gentle touch of calloused fingers over his bare skin made him relax minutely. 

“Relax,” Reinhardt urged him, running a hand through McCree’s messy hair. “Come, let me distract you.” Hanzo pulled away while Reinhardt brought McCree’s face into his lap, urged him to lap at the base of his cock and his balls. 

He shivered at the sound of the bottle of lube opening and let his head fall back when McCree groaned. Though he may protest, McCree  _ did _ enjoy the act of preparation and was very vocal about it. 

Hanzo was thorough about it too and while he might not admit it out loud, he enjoyed hearing the helpless sounds that McCree made. Beneath Reinhardt’s supervision he was less mean about it, didn’t torture McCree with touches and presses to his prostate, didn’t edge McCree until he was a drooling mess. 

Granted it was a very specific mood that the both of them needed to be in for him to be so mean, but Hanzo was usually softer with Reinhardt there, reminding him to be on his best behavior. 

McCree made helpless little noises as Hanzo prepared him, little grunts and grumbles and muffled little moans against Reinhardt’s dick. He lapped at the precome dripping down but didn’t try to slide it into his mouth—it seemed that McCree was now in the mood to obey and so stayed where Reinhardt had directed him. 

Perhaps he was too distracted to think of rebelling, was too busy trying to cram Reinhardt’s enormous cock down his throat. 

“Is he ready?” Reinhardt asked Hanzo, looking to the archer whose laser focus was on McCree. 

Looking guilty—another bad habit of his, looking guilty for something he enjoys—Hanzo looked up at Reinhardt. He swallowed and nodded wordlessly. It was one thing for McCree to choose to call Reinhardt “sir”; Hanzo did no such thing and Reinhardt had never asked him to. 

His respect was shown in other ways, in his obedience and the adoring looks he gave Reinhardt when he thought that Reinhardt wasn’t looking. 

Hanzo nodded and pulled his fingers out, much to McCree’s frustration. He wiped his fingers and shuffled back a little, waiting for more instruction. 

Reaching down, Reinhardt tipped McCree’s head back so he could watch his face. “Go on then,” Reinhardt urged Hanzo. “Unless you have any objections?” 

McCree shook his head quickly and stilled, sighing, when Hanzo slowly shifted forward. From his vantage point, Reinhardt could see Hanzo’s cock slowly slide in and wondered how soft and slick and pink McCree’s rim looked. 

Reaching down, Reinhardt squeezed the base of his dick so that he wouldn’t come too early. Good things came to those who wait, and he wanted to see both of his boys covered in his come. 

The both of them paused, getting used to the feeling of the other. McCree was always so tight, so hot, and he always made the sweetest sounds when stretched wide. For a split second, Reinhardt wanted to chase Hanzo off, to make McCree bounce in his lap just to hear those breathy noises that McCree had only recently begun to make. Hanzo certainly wouldn’t mind—his most recent trick that he loved to play was lapping at McCree’s rim as Reinhardt split it wide. 

Sometimes he would deign to suck McCree’s dick as well, torture McCree with dual sensations until he cried and begged to be allowed to come. 

Reinhardt watched McCree’s face as Hanzo began to slowly rock his hips. Then he began fucking in earnest, his hips snapping with sharp sounds. “Slow down, little dragon,” Reinhardt urged and Hanzo gave him a frustrated look before obeying. It was McCree’s turn to make a frustrated noise. 

For a while he watched them, let McCree bury his face in his groin while he enjoyed being fucked. Hanzo was great at it—one of the many things he was good at—and more than once Reinhardt had enjoyed himself while watching Hanzo have a go at McCree. 

More than once he’d enjoyed being spit roasted between Hanzo and McCree, the gunslinger fucking his face while Hanzo took his ass. It was one of their favorite positions—that and when one of them was speared on Reinhardt’s cock and the other, usually Hanzo, mouthed deliriously at McCree’s stretched rim. 

He made the most delicious noises then: the squelch of lube, the slap of skin, the wet smack of Hanzo’s lips and tongue, the breathy cries and grunts and low growls as McCree was overstimulated, held on the knife’s edge of pleasure by too much stimuli. 

It was rare that McCree let Hanzo top him like this, or vice versa—his boys typically had little taste for slow lovemaking with each other. Their fucking was like a fight and they looked the part when they were done: bites, scratches, hoarse voices. One of them would undoubtedly be walking funny; sometimes both. 

Whenever Reinhardt was gone for a mission and left his boys alone to their own devices, he made sure to stock the cabinets with biotic ointment. 

Reinhardt gently eased McCree’s head back, shushing him and Hanzo when they made identical noises of confusion. “I have a better idea,” he assured them. “Come on the bed. Lie on your back, McCree.” 

There was no way to move as they were so Hanzo—with obvious reluctance—pulled out with a wet sound. McCree climbed to his feet with a groan and a low sound that Hanzo echoed, his eyes on McCree’s ass. 

McCree rolled on his back where Reinhardt gestured and made a throaty noise when Reinhardt caught his legs, lifting them up and apart. At Reinhardt’s nod, Hanzo took his place once more, his calloused hands finding the back of McCree’s thighs. 

When Hanzo slipped back into McCree, it was far rougher than was strictly warranted and his hips immediately began moving again, a staccato beat as if he couldn’t help but be so eager.

Reinhardt chuckled when McCree threw his head back and groaned. He reached down and thumbed at the leaking head of McCree’s cock, making him buck and whine; Hanzo gasped when McCree clenched down on him and bucked his hips harder. 

Both of his boys were watching him now with near-identical expectant looks. Waiting for direction or maybe permission. He hefted his own cock and their eyes immediately zeroed in on it, staring at the flushed head and the peeled-back foreskin. 

“Now you can both reach it,” he said, shuffling over to kneel beside them, holding his cock out between them. 

Hanzo bent over so that his torso hovered over McCree’s, resting his big arms on McCree’s shoulders. The gunslinger grunted at the weight and Hanzo—unusually accommodating—shifted his grip and weight to the bed next to McCree’s head. The position made his arms and shoulders shake as he tried to prop himself up, brace himself while he fucked eagerly into McCree. 

For his part, McCree didn’t need to do much but he did. Reinhardt saw his legs come up around Hanzo’s hips, digging his heels into the archer’s ass to spur him deeper, further, faster; the arm furthest from Reinhardt reached up and drew stinging furrows into the skin of Hanzo’s back, making him growl. 

The two of them mouthed at Reinhardt’s cock with an eagerness that always surprised him. So distracted, it was inevitable for him to feel the occasional sting of teeth but it was less often than he had anticipated and his boys were good at adjusting themselves accordingly. 

They would hurt or be rough with each other, but never with Reinhardt. 

Reinhardt groaned, closing his eye and enjoying the feeling. Both of his boys mouthed and lapped and sucked at the sensitive tip of his cock. McCree made breathy noises as Hanzo fucked him. 

“My good boys,” he groaned. “See what happens when you share?” 

Hanzo was breathing hard, his face flushed and red. The movement of his hips were rougher now, the movements of his mouth and tongue against Reinahrdt’s cock weaker. 

“Are you close, little dragon?” Reinhardt wondered, carding a hand through Hanzo’s sweat-damp hair. He didn’t wait for a response. “I bet you are. I know how much you like this. Open wide.” 

Much to McCree’s obvious frustration, Reinhardt pulled away, moving to rest his knees against McCree’s shoulders, easing Hanzo’s head and body up into a more comfortable position. It meant that Hanzo was now more comfortable and his face was now at a much more convenient level for Reinhardt to feed his cock, just a few inches, into Hanzo’s open mouth. 

Hanzo gasped around the unexpected treat and shoved his head forward as far as he could, his throat fluttering wetly around Reinhardt’s cock. 

“Easy,” Reinhardt gasped. “Easy, little dragon.” The look that Hanzo gave him, his eyes rolled back and his lips pink and shiny around Reinhardt’s thick cock, told him that he didn’t  _ want _ to take it easy. “You know I can’t deny you,” Reinhardt breathed and adjusted his stance. 

Then he fucked into Hanzo’s mouth, doing his best to keep from hurting his little dragon as he gripped the back of Hanzo’s head to hold it still. To use him. Hanzo gasped each time Reinhardt pulled back, each time he had enough space in his throat for air. 

“So good,” Reinhardt breathed. “My good boy. Are you enjoying yourself?” A rhetorical question; Hanzo clearly wasn’t in any shape to answer. “Good boy. Are you close? Why don’t you show McCree how much you like choking on me?” 

Beneath his splayed legs, McCree whined, gasped, as Hanzo’s hips took on a punishing pace. Reinhardt knew that he’d need to get out the biotic ointment for him; Hanzo could be  _ rough _ when he had a goal. 

Reinhardt shifted his stance, splaying his legs wider to lower himself over McCree. He stilled his own hips and sighed when he felt McCree lap obediently at his balls as they drew up tighter. With the hand on the back of Hanzo’s head he pulled the archer’s head closer, nudging his thick cock deeper into the soft clench of his throat. 

Hanzo’s eyes watered but he didn’t fight it, tears and spit running down his face. “Get ready, little dragon,” he cautioned, voice rough. He was only human, after all, and beneath the focus of both of his boys it had been the most sublime of tortures to hold himself back. 

He wasn’t sure that Hanzo could hear him over the rush in his ears but Reinhardt was careful to keep within his bounds. Even though Reinhardt wanted to fuck harder, faster, to bury himself to the hilt in Hanzo’s welcoming throat. 

Reaching down, Reinhardt found one of McCree’s nipples and pinched it meanly. Beneath them both McCree arched with a wounded sound. Hanzo made an inarticulate noise, bucking between the both of them; from McCree’s heaving gasps, Hanzo had come. 

Pulling out of Hanzo’s throat to let him breathe, Reinhardt sighed. “Beautiful,” he breathed. “My beautiful little dragon.” Hanzo’s hips continued to buck, milking his orgasm in the tight clench of McCree’s body. “Do you want me to come in your throat?” 

McCree made a frustrated noise but didn’t stop the movements of his mouth and lips against Reinhardt’s heavy testicles. In fact he seemed to move them more eagerly, arching his back and straining his neck to reach as much as he could, bumping his nose into Reinhardt as he eagerly continued to mouth at him. 

“I think he wants me to,” Reinhardt added to Hanzo, his breath coming shorter. “Are you ready?” 

Hanzo’s eyes were hazy as he stared adoringly up at Reinhardt. With a last gasp Reinhardt came, groaning low and loud as he felt Hanzo struggle to swallow around him, around the deluge of come that was filling his mouth and throat. 

Inevitably some escaped, caching in his beard and dripping down his chin, dripping down Reinhardt’s cock. McCree chased after what he could, breath rough in his exertion as he chased the treat. 

Eventually Reinhardt had to pull away, nerves jittery with overstimulation. Both of his boys looked utterly wrecked. They lay over each other, bodies wet with sweat and spit and come. McCree wasn’t even complaining that Hanzo was crushing him, or that the heat of their bodies and drying sweat was making their skin stick together. 

His boys seemed simply content to lay there together, panting. 

Hanzo’s eyes fluttered in an almost feline kind of pleasure when Reinhardt ran his fingers through his hair. Touch-starved, his pretty boys. It’s fine; Reinhardt was always happy to oblige them. 

He watched the both of them as they caught their breath. Neither seemed distressed, both too high on endorphins to notice much of anything. They  _ did _ notice when he shifted and pulled away, giving him near-identical looks of surprise and confusion. 

“Easy,” he soothed, sparing a moment to run his fingers through their sweat-damp hair. “I’ll be back.” He hurried to keep his promise, walking on still-shaky legs to the bathroom where he got a shallow basin of warm water and two small towels to wash his boys with. 

When he came back out into the room, he found that Hanzo had been busy in his absence, having shifted down to seal his mouth over McCree’s hole. Two of his fingers were buried to the knuckles, rocking into McCree and no doubt pressing teasingly on his prostate, if McCree’s pleased groans were any indication. 

Seeing them together, still drowsy with post-coital bliss (Hanzo) or returning arousal (McCree), made Reinhardt wish that he was younger. He sat to the side, watching them together. McCree’s breaths were ragged, desperate, and Hanzo was being deliberately mean. 

Or perhaps giving Reinhardt the opportunity to participate. 

Reaching over, Reinhardt picked up McCree’s flushed cock and gave it a few lazy strokes. It was leaking, slick bubbling around his knuckles. “Beautiful,” Reinhardt murmured and continued to stroke McCree as he came noisily, gasping and making wounded sounds of pleasure. 

“Beautiful boys,” Reinhardt murmured. He leaned down to kiss Hanzo’s forehead and then McCree’s nose, easing them both down to relax. Whispering praises, he cleaned them off, wiping sweat and come and spit from their bodies before retreating to the bathroom to do the same for himself. 

When he came back they had both retreated to their sides of the bed, opposite ends with a space in the middle for Reinhardt. It wasn’t that they were not fond of each other, or that they disliked each other—their relationship would not work well at all if they did not at least have a little fondness for each other—but they simply worked best with Reinhardt between them. 

Smiling, Reinhardt checked the mattress and found that by some bizarre miracle it had escaped relatively clean and unscathed. Still, they would have to do laundry, later. 

But that was a later problem. 

For now, he turned on the fan with a timer to go off in an hour and climbed into bed. Immediately his boys curled close: Hanzo pressed his face to Reinhardt’s chest to better hear his heartbeat and McCree pressed a hand to his diaphragm to feel his breathing. 

He smiled to himself as he felt his boys drift off to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? Want to yell at me about it? 
> 
> You can also find me on twitter at [dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). I'm trying to get better at posting updates such as when and were everything will be posted.
> 
> Let me know what you think! I had a lot of fun writing this despite there being so many dicks to keep track of....
> 
> That being said, I may eventually write another. Unfortunately there will probably be even _more_ dicks that I'd need to keep track of but hey. I guess I like a challenge... 
> 
> ~DC


End file.
